In the Still of the Night
by AlyB123
Summary: Set after Episode 3x05 (Arioch Cain), Donald Ressler can't shake the image of Elizabeth Keen lying dead on the ground. Additional chapters generally following the storyline of Season 3 and told from Ressler's POV. May go AU at some point depending on where the overall season plot ends up. Keenler! (Other characters make appearances).
1. Chapter 1

_11:00 p.m._

He stares at her empty desk without seeing it. All he sees is the image of Liz lying lifeless in a pool of blood. Bleeding out like Audrey. Like Meera. Today was close. Too close to his nightmares. Thank God it wasn't real. There's still time to make it right. To keep her safe. At least he hopes so. Because the alternative is… terrifying. No doubt about that.

He swallows hard and lifts his eyes to the clock on the wall. It's late. Time to go or he will be of no use to anyone tomorrow. He stands up and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair, reaching for his keys with his other hand. His eyes linger on her desk again. He remembers how her eyes lit up when he surprised her with dinner on her birthday. Her laughter as they shared her bottle of wine. He felt so close to her that night. Like it was the beginning of something. But now it feels like a lifetime ago. God, he misses her. _More than he will ever admit_.

The war room is quiet – screens dark – everyone has left for the night. Today was rough on all of them. Even though the team at the Post Office knew the scene was fake, it was still gut-wrenching seeing her like that up on the screen. It affected everyone. Even Samar, who just last week was telling him how he shouldn't try to save Liz.

And then there was Kotsiopoulos. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the Director sitting there in Cooper's old chair smugly eating a cake pop and acting all buddy-buddy with Laurel Hitchin. So much for her impartiality. Nothing good will come from having the Director around. He's sure of that. They are all going to have to be very careful from now on. He's not sure who he can trust anymore. Well, other than Aram. He has no doubts about Aram's loyalty to Liz. Samar? He can probably trust her. It seems like they are increasingly on the same page. Reven Wright? Yesterday he would have thought she was above board. But after today, he's not so sure. He can't forget that Connolly appointed her to investigate Liz in the first place. He'll have to be careful and keep a close eye on her.

As he pulls away from the Post Office he thinks back to Laurel Hitchin's advice before he testified. _"The red velvet cake pops are to die for."_ Was she trying to send him a message? A warning? He shakes his head. It has to be a coincidence. How could she possibly know that Aram made red velvet cupcakes for Liz's birthday? That they had all joked that it was because of Reddington? There's no way she could know that. He hopes he hasn't put a target on his back or on the Task Force by declaring his belief in Liz's innocence today. Reven warned him to keep his opinions to himself and he tried to do that, but Hitchin wasn't letting him off the hook that easily. So he told her the truth. Exposed himself. What choice did he have? And next thing Hitchen and Reven are in his office with the Director telling him they have to work together. _Right._ But it's clear that if he refuses to play ball they will just find someone else to fill his role. Someone who may not care about bringing Liz in alive. So he has to continue to play along. _For now._

As he drives through the dark streets, he wonders if Liz will hear about his testimony today. It's sure to be in the press. He hopes she will. Their last conversation when she called him in Iowa did not go well. After today, he wishes he could go back and tell her himself that he knows that she is innocent. That he believes in her. And that everything he is doing is to help her, not hurt her. If he brings her in, he can work on trying to clear her name. He wishes she could see that. But she's so caught up with Reddington – with this wild quest for whatever it is they are searching for – that Reddington is now her savior and he is the enemy. She has a new partner now. So be it. His only concern at this point is keeping her alive. The rest they can figure out later. _As long as she doesn't die first._

What is Reddington's end game? That's the question he keeps asking himself night after night as he stares at the board in the war room, staring at the ever-growing cast of characters in this tangled web. The only path he can see for Liz to get some semblance of her life back is a full acquittal at trial. Is Reddington building evidence for a defense? Or does he have some other scheme in mind? Is Reddington going to call him up one day and hand Liz over like a package when the time is right? Or will he have to continue to hunt her down? Slap her in cuffs at gunpoint? _Don't go there._

And even if there is a trial – even if they can prove she had nothing to do with the OREA bombing – even if they can prove that she did not knowingly infect the senator – how can she be acquitted of Connolly's murder? She pulled the trigger, no doubt. Fired the fatal shot. He has seen the video himself. It was enough to make him doubt her. At least until the point that she shot that Russian to save him and he realized his gut was telling him to keep trusting her.

Samar said the other day no one made her do it. And it certainly seems that way. But … he can't get Dr. Linus Creel out of his head. Creel turned seemingly normal people into assassins by destroying their lives bit by bit until they snapped. Is it really a coincidence that they learned about his scheme right when they did? That Keen's whole world collapsed right before she shot Connolly? Hell, they were calling her Masha Rostova in interrogation right before she busted out. Questioning her whole identity. He called Creel's patients perps at the time but Liz had called them victims. Maybe she was right. Maybe there is some excuse for what she did. His head hurts just thinking about it.

As he steps out of the car, he shivers at the chill in the air. It was spring when she first ran and now the leaves are swirling around his feet. Will he still be chasing her when the snow falls? _As long as we're not burying her._

He wonders where she is tonight. "Be safe, Liz" he whispers as he opens the door to his apartment.

 _3:00 a.m._

 _He's running down a long corridor with SWAT team members all around him. The sound of gunfire blasts in the distance. "Move! Move!" he yells. His feet can't move fast enough. Rounding the corner, he freezes. There are bodies strewn all over the room and right in the middle – blonde hair surrounded by a rapidly expanding puddle of blood. "Keen!" he screams, his heart pounding. He drops to his knees in front of her, cradling her head in his lap. Her eyelids barely flicker. "Keen! Stay with me! Stay with me! Come on, don't leave me. Stay with me!" Tears run down his cheeks as his hands search frantically for the wound to stop the bleeding. But as he holds her, he feels the life slipping from her. As the sirens wail in the distance, she's gone. He's too late._

He jolts awake, heart pounding. He's soaked in sweat. It takes him a minute to register where he is. _God, that felt real_. He flips on the bedside lamp and stares down for a moment at the twisted covers. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he makes his way to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face. He looks up and sees red eyes staring back at him in the mirror. Pull it together, Don.

Returning to his room, he sits on the edge of the bed and stares through the blinds at the streetlight below. They went from partners to hunter and hunted in the blink of an eye. How much longer is this going to continue? How much longer can he continue? His head throbs. Turning away from the window, he pounds his soaked pillow and stretches out again on the bed. He closes his eyes, willing himself to forget the image of a blonde haired, bloody Liz that is seared into his brain.

 _5:00 a.m._

 _Their fingertips brush as she refills his cup, and it's like a charge of electricity passes through him. She's laughing – her smile for once reaching all the way to her eyes. It is so good to hear her laugh. She needs to do that more often. She's had a rough year – so has he. But they are both coming out on the other side. He feels his pulse quicken as he watches her, her deep blue eyes shining at him over the rim of her cup, her dark hair framing her face. Her smile so big that it brings out the dimples in her cheeks. He would do anything to make her smile like that all the time. Impulsively, he puts down his cup and reaches across the desk and grabs her hand, gently rubbing it with his thumb. She's quiet then, looking at him. But she doesn't pull away. And she's still smiling. He pulls her hand towards him and gently kisses her fingers. "Happy Birthday, Liz."_

The beeping of his alarm clock jolts him awake. He rubs his hand across his eyes. _Well, then._ With a sigh, he swings his legs out of bed and heads to the bathroom. He steps into the shower and stands under the steaming spray, willing it to ease the tension in his body. _Maybe a cold shower would have been a better idea._

 _6:00 a.m._

The Post Office is already a hive of activity when he steps out of the elevator and starts to cross the war room.

"Ressler." Samar walks briskly towards him. "I have to show you something." She follows him into his office and closes the door.

"We recovered a burner phone at the scene yesterday where Wendigo attempted to take out Liz. It was definitely her phone – her prints were on it. And there's a voicemail on it I think you need to hear."

He takes the phone from her hand and presses the voicemail button on the phone. His eyes narrow as Tom Keen's voice fills his ear, spewing platitudes about love and loyalty. He finishes listening to the message and looks up at Samar. "Have Aram track that call. We need to find Tom Keen and figure out what the hell he is up to now. " Samar nods and turns towards the door. "Samar - don't tell anyone other than Aram about this, ok?" She looks back at him over her shoulder, meets his gaze, and nods again. _God, I hope I can trust her_.

After she leaves, he leans back in his chair twirling his pen. So Tom Keen made contact with Liz after he turned down Tom's offer to help. More than once from the sounds of it. He's not sure how to feel about that.

Looking through the window, he sees the Director step off the elevator, followed closely by Reven Wright. He sits up then, taking a deep breath. It's going to be a long day. But maybe it's time to rethink Tom Keen. He still doesn't trust him, but maybe he can use Tom Keen to find Liz. To keep her safe. Maybe it's time to bend the rules a little bit. He's gotta start somewhere. He straightens his tie and steps out into the war room and meets the Director's eyes. _Game on._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all so much for the positive reviews! It took me a while to update because I've been busy with work, but this chapter is set right after 3x06. The next chapter, set after 3x07, is not far behind!_

 _7:00 p.m._

It's strange to be leaving work this early – ever since Keen ran he's been practically living at the Post Office. He can't remember the last time he actually ate dinner in his apartment. He'd told Samar that today was a win. And he meant it. Sliding into the car, he can't help feeling elated. Today was the first time in a long time that he'd felt like he was on the right side. Like he was finally getting somewhere. Funny – because today was the first day that he hadn't really tried to catch Keen. Hell, he'd conducted a conference call in his office with the FBI's one and two Most Wanted on speakerphone. _FBI shrink would have a field day with that one, wouldn't she?_

Tonight was the first night since she ran that he hadn't stared at the board. Hadn't felt the need to. The only bodies added to the body count today were the bad guys – he was comfortable with that. Tonight, he would sleep and tomorrow was another day to resume the hunt. Bet the Director won't be sleeping so well tonight.

Today, the Director exposed himself as the real enemy. If anyone had told him five years ago that he'd consider Reddington his ally and the Director of the CIA his enemy he would have laughed in their faces. But now? It's like a chess match. Between him and the Director. Each of them will make their moves until … _don't go there_. He just needs enough to build his case and present it to Laurel Hitchen and she'd have to listen. She'd have to get rid of the Director to protect herself – and the President. It feels good to have an enemy again other than Liz and Reddington, to be honest. He hadn't realized how much he needed that until now.

Glancing at his watch, he realizes he better stop somewhere and grab dinner. He's barely been at home so there's nothing in the fridge. He pulls into the lot of a burger place and heads inside.

The restaurant is bright and full of people as he stands at the counter waiting for his order. Full of families, kids in soccer and lacrosse uniforms chatting about their day. A few tables away is a dad in a button down shirt and tie, sleeves rolled up, jacket tossed over the back of the chair smiling at his son who is gesturing wildly with his hands as he tells some story from his day. Across the table, the mom – a pretty brunette in jeans – wipes some ketchup off the mouth of her daughter, a miniature version of herself with her hair pulled back in a ponytail with a giant pink bow. He can't help but smile as the girl reaches up and places her little hands on each side of her mother's face and pats her cheeks with a huge grin. _Liz has dimples like that_.

"Ok, that'll be $10.95." The voice of the girl behind the counter startles him and he reaches for his wallet. As she hands him his bag he glances back and sees the dad with his arm around his son, blond heads pressed together, laughing. He smiles to himself as he heads out to the car. They look so happy.

His apartment is quiet and dark. Too quiet. Heading into the kitchen, he grabs a beer from the fridge and heads into the living room, glancing at his watch. Still time for football. He flips on the TV and settles down on the couch. The cold beer slides down his throat easily. _God, it's been a long week._

 _9:00 p.m. _

The buzz of his phone interrupts his reverie. Pressing the mute button on the game, he puts his beer down and answers gruffly, "Ressler."

"It's me. I only have a minute."

His pulse quickens. "Keen? Where are you? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. I just wanted to say – thank you. For what you said to the Presidential Commission. It meant a lot."

The instant of panic he felt when he heard her voice subsides. "It was the truth, Keen. I wasn't gonna lie under oath."

"I know that. But thank you – I know you're taking a big risk by coming out on my side."

"I still need to bring you in. I can't let you die out there. You keep running, you're gonna get yourself killed."

In the silence, he heard her breath catch. "I know. I gotta go."

And she's gone. Where? Who the hell knows. And now, he doesn't feel elated anymore. He feels angry. What the hell is Reddington thinking, dragging her around from place to place like this. It was bad enough that she was living in those motels, using aliases when she was here. But now? She's sleeping God knows where with people outright looking to kill her.

He flips off the TV and stares blankly at the dark screen. The same screen that flashed her face on the news – dead – just days ago. With a sigh, he pushes himself off the couch, dumps the rest of his dinner in the trash and grabs another beer from the fridge. So much for a quiet evening in.

Back on the couch, he feels bone tired. He can't remember the last time he read a book, went for a walk, basically did anything that didn't revolve around work. But mostly – he feels damn lonely. With Liz gone, there's no joy in going to work anymore. It's all just business. Business that has become all too personal. Draining the last sip of beer, he decides to head to bed. No point in sitting here wallowing. Tomorrow's gonna be another long day.

 _4:30 a.m._

 _He's running alone down a long dark tunnel. He can see pinpricks of light bobbing in front of him, like flashlights glancing off the walls. His heart is pumping. He knows she's just ahead. Suddenly, he hears screams up ahead – blood-curdling screams of terror. He tries to run faster but the tunnel seems to be growing longer and longer as he runs. Liz, I'm coming! He's pushing his body to the limit, willing himself to move faster, faster. He's getting closer to the light but as he does he sees it's focused on a single spot on the floor. A body on the floor. Liz. And the smell of blood hits him….._

He jerks awake, heart racing. His eyes flick to the clock on the bedside table. Too early. He tries to calm himself, tries to remind himself it's not real. It's just a nightmare. Willing his mind to think of something else – anything else – he thinks back to the family at the restaurant. How happy and calm they all seemed. _Wonder if Liz or I will ever have that?_ The thought comes unbidden. As a general rule he tries not to think about the future. Not since Audrey died. It just hurts too much. It's easier to focus on work. Or, at least it was – before work became hunting his partner.

Realizing he's not going to sleep any more, he heads into the shower. It's easier to focus under the warm spray. He forces himself to think of the Director. The enemy. Yesterday was a start. But what the hell is the next move going to be?


	3. Chapter 3

_9:00 p.m_

He sits at his desk bitterly staring at the wall. His head is pounding. Nothing went according to plan today. _Nothing_. Well, other than getting the Director booted out of the Post Office. But try as he might, he can't feel happy about that. Sure, it's what he wanted – what he's been fighting for – but the victory feels hollow in light of the days' events. He was so excited when Aram's tap on Tom's phone paid off. He'd expected to finally capture Liz. Expected to finally sleep knowing she was safe. Instead, Cooper – _Cooper_ of all people – had tipped them off. He trusted him and he let them go. Another wild goose chase. _Goddammit_. It's been hours and his blood still boils thinking about it. _Fucking Tom Keen_. When would Liz ever see that bastard for what he is? Why does she keep running back to him?

He can't sit still anymore. He needs to get out, clear his head. Grabbing his jacket he flips off the lights and heads downstairs. As he's getting ready to head out, he sees Samar sitting alone on the edge of Liz's desk with her head bowed. He pauses, puts his jacket down and walks over to the doorway. He almost lost _her_ today too. He can hardly wrap his mind around that.

Listening to her grieve her brother, he can feel the tears welling in his eyes. She's been betrayed worse than he can imagine. But the thing is, he _can_ imagine. He gets it. She's got no one. No one at all. They're so much alike. _How did he not see that before?_ And as he's listening to her, he's focused on the desk behind her. _Liz's desk_. And he feels his throat tightening.

"Are you okay?" Her question takes him by surprise. And staring at Liz's desk, he's honest. "I'm not so sure." The last word catches in his throat and he swallows hard. She gives him a searching look and he turns away, trying not to let her see the tears fighting to escape. Because suddenly it's just all too damn much. He's so goddamn sick of the chase. Of being betrayed. Of being alone. Of having no one – _no one_ –he can trust.

 _11:00 p.m._

He stares at the ceiling listening to Samar breathe, her arm resting lightly on his bare chest. It's the first time since Audrey died that he's had anyone else in his bed and it feels strange. He can't remember the last time he just let go like that. It was surprisingly easy to lose himself there for a while – forget all the pain of the day and just give in. But now? _I can't believe I slept with my partner_. He gently lifts her arm, turns away from her on his side, and wills himself to fall asleep.

 _2:00 a.m._

 _He's running through the woods – he can see her shape darting through the trees in front of him. Small flashes of blonde hair. He should be able to catch her – when did she learn to run so fast? He can hear the leaves crunching as he runs, but somehow she is soundless. He loses sight of her and stops, listening for any sound. Suddenly he hears a gunshot. He runs in the direction of the shot and as he draws closer he sees her on the ground. His heart races as he falls to his knees in front of her. All he sees is blood spreading across the ground, staining the leaves. In the distance, he hears a voice shouting "Ressler!"_

"Ressler!" Samar's voice pulls him from the nightmare. He's on his back and she's leaning over him with a concerned look on her face, her hand gently touching his sweaty cheek. His heart is pounding. He pulls away from her quickly and heads into the bathroom, yanking his discarded t-shirt over his head as he does so. He splashes water on his face and stares at his haggard reflection in the mirror. _Pull yourself together. Don't lose it in front of her_.

Returning to the bedroom, he avoids Samar's eyes as he climbs back into bed and rolls back on his side, away from her. "How long has this been going on?" she asks softly. "Too long" he answers shortly. He can't talk about this. Not with her. They haven't gotten to that level yet.

"We're going to find her," she says, "I'm certain of it." He doesn't answer her. She turns then and wraps her arms around him silently, her cheek pressed against his back. And suddenly, he can't hold it in anymore and he takes a deep shuddered breath and lets the tears come.

 _6:00 a.m._

He wakes to find Samar fully dressed, silhouetted in the doorway. "Are we ok?" he asks. "Of course we are," she replies, looking at him evenly. "I'll see you at work." And with that she's gone. As the cool morning light seeps through the blinds and illuminates the room his mind swirls. _What the hell do I do next?_


	4. Chapter 4

2:15 a.m.

He stares out the window of the Suburban as it speeds down the interstate towards Washington D.C., the trees blurring together in the inky blackness. His finger hovers over his phone, illuminating the empty screen for what feels like the hundredth time. He keeps hoping for some word from Reven Wright. He's got Aram trying to locate her, but he hasn't heard from him in the last few hours either. Where the hell is she? It's not like her not to return his calls. Especially not after he left her a voicemail telling her he'd caught Keen. The message she's been waiting for, for months. He can't shake a gnawing feeling in his gut that something is dreadfully wrong.

He glances to his left. The bluish light from his phone illuminates Liz, asleep next to him. Her head is turned away, her cuffed hands resting quietly in her lap. She'd stayed awake for the first couple of hours of the drive, staring silently out the window. But eventually exhaustion overcame her and she'd conked out. He's glad she's resting. He could use some shuteye himself. It's been a hell of a long day. But there's no way he's going to let his guard down. He saw the icy looks she got as he put her in the car. The turned backs. In their minds, she murdered 14 CIA agents, a U.S. Senator, and the Attorney General. Those kinds of accusations don't win you any friends in law enforcement. He didn't need Reddington to tell him she's in danger. But he'll be damned if he's going to let anything happen to her. Not on my watch.

He takes the opportunity to study her while she sleeps. This is the first time in months he's been this physically close to her. Close enough to touch her, without a fence or a window or a door between them. He can't get used to her loose blonde hair. It makes her look like a stranger. He glances down at her wrists, encased in his cuffs. He's been chasing her as a fugitive for months but the image of her cuffed and shackled is still jarring. Hard to believe that just a few months ago, he had held that same hand and kissed her fingers as they celebrated her birthday. It feels like a lifetime ago.

He swallows hard at the memory and turns away, staring out the window into the blackness. He replays the chase. She ran like a deer from a hunter. Never once looking back, never pausing. Like she was running for her life. And when he took her down – when he slammed her into the ground and pointed his gun at her – the look in her eyes…..In that moment he was so angry at her, so angry at her betrayal, the chase, the evasions, the lies, all of it. But she was right, of course. He never would have shot her. He never could have shot her. She knows you too damn well.

He closes his eyes, but he's still seeing hers. Her gaze never left his as she lay there in the leaves. So similar to his dream – just without the blood, thank God. She'd caught her breath and her steely defiance faded almost in an instant, replaced by a look of immeasurable sadness. It was like all the light had gone out of her. Like she truly believed her life was over. What the hell did she expect him to do? Let her go again? The thought comes, unbidden. She's terrified. And she feels safer with Reddington than with you. And it hurts. More than he wants to admit.

He'd been as gentle as he could, cuffing her and leading her back through the woods. Before they'd gotten back to the cars, he'd stopped her and, gripping her elbows, turned her to face him. "Keen – we don't have much time. Everything we say to each other after this is gonna have an audience. Tell me what's going on. What's Reddington's plan? Why were you here?" She'd hesitated, her eyes searching his face. She was clearly undecided whether she should trust him. He'd tried not to let her see how much that bothered him. He'd tried again, more gently. "Liz, I want to help you. Tell me what I need to know to do that."

She'd taken another deep breath as she'd cast her eyes downward. "Reddington. You need to talk to Reddington. He'll tell you what you need to know." He'd shaken his head in frustration. "So that's it, Keen? You're not gonna tell me anything more than that? I already know Reddington's gonna call me. You gotta give me more than that." But she'd remained silent. "At some point Liz, if we're gonna get through this, you're gonna have to start trusting me again."

He looks back at her now – still asleep – and suddenly he has to touch her. Before the walls are back between them. He glances in front of him, but the agents in the front are focused on the road ahead, and the vehicle is dark. He reaches his left hand out and gently strokes the fingers of her right hand. A quick squeeze – he doesn't want to wake her – and he withdraws again, staring out into the blackness of the night.

A movement catches his eye and he glances back to find Liz staring at him. As his eyes meet hers, her expression softens and her eyes flicker down to his hand, back resting in his lap.

5:00 a.m.

The journey from the car to the box feels surreal even though he's pictured this scene in his mind for months. How many times has he ridden this elevator with her? He stares at her as the box closes, their eyes once again locked. Walls between them again. He can't help but remember the last time they faced each other in this space – except then it was him in the box with a near-fatal leg would and her with a gun to her head on the outside. He wonders if she's thinking about it too.

"I'll keep you safe. I promise." He means the words as much as he has ever meant any vow in his life. But it's clear she still doesn't believe that he can. And that's not sitting well with him. He glances at his watch. Just a couple of hours until the courthouse opens. Just a couple of hours until her hearing can begin.

"Agent Ressler?" He turns to find Aram standing nervously behind him. "The Director and Laurel Hitchen are waiting in your office. White House counsel is on her way."

"Any word from Reven Wright?"

"No, sir."

"Aram, you stay with Keen while I have this meeting. Do not leave her side for any reason. You understand?"

"Yes, of course."

He strides up the stairs briskly to find the Director sitting at his desk again, smirking. "Ah, Agent Ressler. Congratulations. You finally captured your prey. Got any more of those cake pops?" Ignoring the Director, he turns to Laurel. "Where's Reven Wright? Last I spoke with her, she was trying to get in touch with you because she thought you might be able to help us get some background on Solomon."

"Oh yes. She called me. I told her I didn't have any information. She mentioned she had another lead though - someone called Tommy Markin. That name mean anything to you?"

It's like a punch to the gut. His heart pounding, he fights to keep his expression carefully blank as he responds, "never heard of him."

Laurel nods briskly. "Well, we're investigating, but in the meantime since we can't find her, we have to assume that the procedures Reven and I put in place to assure Agent Keen's safety may have been compromised. So we need to relocate Agent Keen and find a new venue for her hearing. I'm confident the President will agree after we brief Cynthia Panabaker."

His mind is whirling while he tries to remain outwardly calm. There is no doubt in his mind now that Reven Wright is dead. Probably at the bottom of a river somewhere. And if Laurel Hitchen is involved, that means this shadow government reaches all the way to the President's cabinet. All the way to the Oval Office too? He knows it's only a matter of hours before the CIA, with its resources, links Markin's name to his family. And then they'll get rid of him too.

Just then, a brown haired woman in tweed appears in his doorway and extends her hand. "Hi, I'm Cynthia Panabakar. White House counsel. Laurel, I understand we have some changes we need to discuss." And then, more cooly. "Peter. Always a pleasure. Let's get down to business, shall we"? He sees the mutual dislike reflected on their faces. The Director stands up suddenly and heads for the door "I'll leave you three to the details and go see how things are progressing downstairs."

He feels the bile rise in his throat as he watches the Director leave. He hopes Aram is with Liz. There's clearly no love lost between the Director and Ms. Panabakar, however. Turning towards her, he prays that he has found a new ally. For all their sakes.


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: I'm so sorry it has taken me so long to update this story! The last chapter was written before 3x10 aired, so I took some chances with where the story was going. I hope to get back on track and catch up to current events very shortly!_

 _4:00 a.m._

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his head resting against the hard cinder block wall. Two nights of no sleep is catching up with him. He's running on pure adrenaline at this point. But it doesn't matter. He couldn't sleep right now even if he wanted to. He won't risk anything more happening to her tonight.

The floor is quiet except for the occasional bang and hiss from the old steam pipes.

He glances into the cell – she's curled up on the hard bench, his jacket under her head. The holding cells at the courthouse aren't really intended for overnight stays so the accommodations are sparse, at best. He watches her chest rise and fall steadily as she sleeps. The sight is reassuring. It's terrifying to think how close he came to losing her today.

 _She almost died because of you._ He swallows hard. But it's the honest truth. He feels like a fool for not connecting the dots. For blindly trusting the system to work. He never should have brought her in. She tried to tell him. And he should have known just from the look on her face when he caught her that she was right. _But what was the alternative, really?_ He smacks the back of head against the wall in frustration, the small jolt of physical pain a welcome respite from the ache in his chest that feels like it will never go away.

It only helps for a minute. He needs to move. The sitting still is driving him crazy. He stands and stretches and walks briskly down the corridor. There's no one else on the floor except for a few U.S. Marshals at the end of the hallway. They cleared the entire place for her security. He hopes it's enough. It's hard to trust anything - or anyone - anymore.

He stops in the bathroom and splashes some cold water on his face. He stares at himself in the mirror, eyes bloodshot, tie askew. He looks like crap. And he feels like it, too. He could use a shower. And a change of clothes. Not to mention some sleep. The water's helping though. He stands and straightens his tie. Not much longer now and she'll have her hearing. And then – _what?_ That's the million dollar question. He hopes Reddington has the answer, because he sure doesn't.

His footsteps are the only sound as he makes his way back to her cell. He's glad to see she's still sleeping as he settles back in his chair. He closes his eyes, but he can't shut his brain off. Even though he wasn't there to witness it, he can imagine her lying on the floor of the box as clear as if he had been there. _Thank God Aram was the one with her_. He could never have stood by and watched her slowly suffocate. If he'd been there, he would have demanded to open the box sooner. He would not have had the strength Aram did to wait it out as she struggled. No, if he'd been there, she'd be dead. Like Audrey. _Because I'm a blind fool._ He feels nauseous just thinking about it.

He wants to tell her how very sorry he is. For not believing in her. For hunting her as hard as he did. For failing to protect her. But he's not sure he can find the words. Or that he'll have the chance. His eyes sting and he blinks hard, opening them long enough to focus on the reassuring rise and fall of her chest. Even though she says she doesn't blame him, how could she not? Things will never be the same between them. A single tear slides down his nose and he swipes at it angrily with his hand. _Pull it together. You won't do her any good this way_.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. _Focus._ Keeping her safe is the only thing that matters right now. Reddington has a plan. He doesn't know the details and that's probably best. He never thought he'd trust one of the FBI's Most Wanted more than people at the highest levels of the federal government. But that's the new reality, and it's disconcerting to say the least. The knowledge that Reven Wright is certainly dead weighs heavily. She was a good, decent person who tried to do the right thing. But justice for Reven is a fight for another day. Liz has to be the priority right now.

He opens his eyes and looks over at her again. She's still asleep, her breath steady. He closes his eyes once more. He needs something else to focus on or he's going to go mad waiting for morning. He forces himself to picture her smile - a real one, the kind that brings out her dimples and lights up her face all the way to her eyes. And her eyes - so many beautiful shades of blue and gray all mixed together.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

6:30 a.m.

He hears her shift slightly and opens his eyes to see the first rays of daylight filtering into the cell, glinting off her blonde hair.

She lifts her head and blinks at the glare and turns towards him. "You look tired."

He is. More than he wants to admit. But he tries to keep it light, "There'll be plenty of time to sleep when this is over – for both of us."

She smiles, wearily.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out. A text from Tom Keen. "You guys ok?" He sighs as he taps out a short response. "Yes. All good." Another part of this new reality he can hardly wrap his mind around. Exchanging text messages with Tom Keen, of all people. But he'll do what he needs to do to keep Liz safe. And for the moment, they seem to share that common goal. He'll take allies where he can find them.


	6. Chapter 6

_7:00 p.m_

He unlocks the door of his apartment, tosses his jacket on the back of a chair, and yanks at his tie. It's only been two days, but it feels like a lifetime since he was last home. He's so tired he can hardly see straight. He'd stayed at the Post Office long enough to get word from Reddington that he and Dembe had picked up Liz safely from the courthouse. He'd offered to stay and wait for her, but Reddington had made it clear that wasn't necessary. Just as well. There's a lot he and Liz need to discuss. But tonight is not the time. Tonight, he's just grateful that she's safe.

He pauses by the kitchen. He's hungry, but he can't face cooking anything right now. He flips on the bedroom light and stares for a moment at the rumpled bed. _Samar_. The last time he was home he was here with her. He shakes his head. That's a mess he's going to have to sort out now that Liz's days as a fugitive are over. _A stupid mistake, that's what it was_.

He wants nothing more than to crawl straight into bed but he really needs a shower first. He unbuckles his belt, peels off his shirt and pants and stumbles into the bathroom. He leans his forehead against the cool tile as the warm spray beats gently on his aching back. He hopes Liz got the paper he left for her with the property clerk. He never believed it was really a will. A message to someone, maybe? Reddington? Tom? He certainly wasn't going to read it and find out. It's none of his business anyway. Where did Reddington bring her tonight? A hotel? A house? More likely the latter, for privacy. _Something else that is none of your business_.

The spray is soothing but what he really needs is sleep. He quickly washes and throws a towel around his waist. He walks back into the bedroom and pulls on a clean t-shirt and shorts and slides gratefully under the covers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 _2:30 a.m._

He sees the black barrel of the gun and instinctively moves to shield Liz, his hand pushing her back against the stairwell. He tries to shout a warning but no sound comes out. The bullet makes a whooshing sound as it flies past his head. Beside him, he hears her cry out and he watches in horror as a red stain spreads slowly across her chest. She falls back against the stairs, gasping, as he presses his hands against her to try to stem the bleeding. But there is too much blood. Blood everywhere - all over her body, his hands, the stairs. He looks around at the other marshals and guards. No one is moving to help, no one is calling an ambulance. Why are they all just standing there? Why is no one doing anything? Can't they see she is dying? He can see the life fading from her as he tries to scream her name, tries to beg her to hang on, but again no sound comes out. There's nothing but silence.

He jolts awake, heart pounding, and sits up. He looks down at his hands, which are shaking and sweaty but surprisingly not covered in blood. His whole body is covered in sweat. He draws his knees up and rests his head on his folded arms and focuses on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. _It's not real. She's alive. She's safe_. One split second slower, though, and things would have been very different.

Gradually his heart rate slows back to something approaching normal and he eases himself back against the pillows, glancing at the clock as he does so. Are these nightmares ever going to stop? He's starting to think he may never sleep well again. Today was scary as hell though. That bullet came too damn close to both of them. He stares up at the ceiling. He wishes he could see her, talk with her, reassure himself that she's fine. _But it's none of your business really, is it?_ He reaches for his phone on the night table and is surprised to see a text message from an unknown number that is a couple of hours old. "Elizabeth is sleeping. All is well." He shakes his head as he puts his phone back down on the nighttable and closes his eyes. _Reddington_. The man's instincts are unbelievable. Somehow he always knows just what to say and when. Somehow Reddington knew he would need to hear that tonight. He probably knows about the nightmares too. And he wonders again what really happened to turn Reddington into what he is.

He can't seem to shut his mind off and stares at the ceiling once more. What next? Liz is an asset, not an agent. Tom is - what? Her ex-? An unsanctioned asset? Despite the man's help with Karakurt, he can't trust him. And he wishes he would just disappear again into whatever black hole he had crawled into before Reddington was forced to draw him out. Probably unlikely at this point. And then there's Reven's death. As Cooper said - it's a fight for another day. But letting Laurel Hitchin get away with murder - _murder_ \- is not something he can live with. Listening to her at the press conference today made him sick. Liz should take comfort in the fact the system worked? But Hitchin was right about one thing. There is no apology that will ever make it right. _Will Liz ever be able to forgive?_ He hopes so.

 _She's safe._ He repeats it to himself as the wind picks up outside. Whatever has happened between them is in the past. It's time to move forward. _Time to tell her how you really feel_.


End file.
